


Little Boy Lost

by enenrayokai



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:31:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6893902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enenrayokai/pseuds/enenrayokai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young boy running from the past is crippled by the future.  It is this youth- this monster among men- that has captivated the Winchester brothers.  Hunters kill monsters and monsters get killed.  Only, the world is rarely ever that black and white.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Boy Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya friends. I am new to posting my works and hope you all enjoy. This could be the beginning of a story if people are interested? Comments, criticism and all are greatly welcome. "We are only as great as the people who surround us."

The clouds gave way for the light to fall through. The young boy watched as the light found the earth beneath his feet and lifted his head in greeting. The sun dazzled upon his face playing and dancing across his features. A smile appeared on the usually mournful features and it was a symphony of a silent, hidden understanding. Alone he stood in a field as far as the eye could see; a single boy in a world so large.

His ragged hair engulfed his face, nearly masking the smile that played with his lips. His eyes seeped sorrow and while his smile was for joyous reasons it held a grief far beyond what any boy his age should be able to express. Clouds began to move overhead and similar to how the light found the boy it just as quickly left. The smile was fleeting and slipped easily from his characteristics. The moment was gone. The boy's gaze dropped to the floor and he let his arms lay lazily at his sides.

With a shake of his head he began to walk. In a direction the boy was uncertain of. Though uncertain with direction his footfalls were confident none-the-less. His posture was rigid and stiff but he moved with a grace that made him seem whimsical, ghostly. His face was pale and his skin hugged his bones from the malnutrition he was accustomed to receive.

This boy had no money, no family he knew of, and as he walked he seemed to walk as if someone was at his side. No more than a few miles from where the boy walked a small town lay. Give it no more than mere hours and the boy would reach the haven that would be his home for the next few days; fore he never stayed anywhere for more time than that. There was no reason for him to stay, so like always he would continue to move from town to town, from city to city.

This was what the young boy had become scheduled to; a continuous loop of stopping and moving and settling again. As the town grew closure the boy’s pace began to slow. Despite his tremendous amounts of travel he was never excited to be in a new place. His reason for travel was not to see the world but in a hope that what he was sure followed him would never reach him. This was why the boy traveled, this was why the boy never stayed somewhere too long, and this was why the boy was alone.

The past is the old friend that all hope they will never see again, for this boy it was no different. A broken street lamp darkened a patch of street and as the boy wandered through the darkness he gave remembrance to how the sunlight had run from him hours before in the field.

Night had fallen and with it came the silence of an empty town. Doors were shut, windows drawn, and again, the boy found that he was alone. A chill found his spine and a shiver gave hold to his body. The temperature was dropping, leaving the boy with inadequate clothing on his back. The wind whispered in his ear and he would shake his head every once in awhile as if trying to shrug the wind away.

A few yards behind where the boy strode, others followed in his wake. Two stranger were diligently tracking the young boy in hope to reach him before more damage could be done. As minutes passed the followers became closer and closer to the young child that they mirrored behind. A new moment was about to begin. A hand found the young boy’s shoulder and as the contact was made the boy’s mind began to spin. This man, one with his grip firmly on the kid, was the boy’s past.

Only walls separated those sleeping from the atrocities occurring outside. The actions were quiet until a single bullet would sound. Suffice to say, not a single soul awoke. The boy had been shot in the heart. But unknown to the world, it was better off that way. For that boy, was not just a boy- he was a monster among men.

They had been following the boy for days, and with the job finally done both Winchesters felt they could finally breathe again. Dean’s hair was ruffled and his mind- though usually sharp- was muddied with uncertainty. A feeling he rarely encountered. A feeling he was happy without. He knew his line of work was far from normal- but it was days like these that he wished his life had been different. The boy had been just a kid.

Yeah he knew the kid had done some bad shit, and yeah the kid was not “human”, but still, from what he saw the kid was just a… well… kid. It was the break between the reality of what he saw and the knowledge of what the boy really was that seemed to be in grave conflict. He had taken the shot, no doubt, but it did not go unnoticed by either brother that he had hesitated. Dean Winchester had hesitated to take a shot.

Both brothers stood with their backs to the lying form of the young boy and their postures were ridged and tired. The air around them seemed to mirror their discomfort and the gentle whistling of the wind turned chaotic. Leaves rustled haphazardly and the clouds overhead casted the entire area into a dim, foggy darkness. Dean stood still, his shoulders slightly slumped forward and his gun resting at his side. The barrel still warm to the touch, his head bowed slightly.

“Dean, I don’t think we’re done.” Sam’s broad proclamation made something inside Dean stirred and his weariness was evident.

“No shit Sammy. The darkness is off the radar, Crowley is doing god knows what, and well the world is going to hell in handbasket.”

“No, Dean. Look,” and that was all it took for Dean to lift his head and pivot slightly. Standing before both of them was a young boy.

A Cheshire like smile lapped at his lips and his eyes were a stark white, teeming with unknown energy. A shriek of a laugh reverberated through the evening and both brothers could barely make out the boy’s mumble statement before he vanished completely.

“Let the games begin.”


End file.
